Courage and Hope
by BC
Summary: She had cried. She had begged the… boy to put it back, to make Dudders normal again, but he just stared at her with Lily's eyes like he was mocking her, and he didn't do anything.


Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I make no profit of this story.

A/N: I woke up angry today. I had this idea years ago, even made some notes, but nothing ever came of it. Today it wouldn't leave me alone. So I wrote a thing.

One of the charms of Harry Potter is its unreliable narrator. Have a different point of view.

(Please note that I am not denying the neglect and abuse Harry experienced, or trying to make light of it. Petunia herself is also a completely unreliable narrator. Just – she has a few valid points, too.)

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Courage and Hope

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The pill bottles formed an orderly line on the shelf of the cabinet. Pet surveyed them and closed the cabinet doors.

The face looking back at her from the mirror was perfectly made up, but no amount of cosmetics could hide her eyes. Watery blue, like her Father's, so dull. And anyone who looked into them could see the truth, she was sure. She could hide everything about herself, about her hellhole of a life, except the look in her eyes.

"Mum!" came the bellow from downstairs.

Pet took a deep breath and willed her hands to stop trembling. Worse come to worst, she could just play with her jewelry – make it seem like she was showing off rather than anxious.

"Coming, Pumpkin!" she called out.

She glanced at the bed – Vern had sat there, putting on his socks – she would have to check on his tie, but Vern knew how to tie a Half Windsor perfectly competently. Unless he was angry again, then he would mess it up out of frustration.

Dear Lord, please let Vern not be furious today.

"Muuum!"

"Just a second, baby!"

The bedroom door clicked shut. Pet picked up a plastic raygun and a shoe lying in the hallway and, strapped for time, just put them into Dudders' playroom, trying not to look at the piles of mess. How did her darling manage that destruction? She had tidied up just yesterday.

"Muuuhuuuhuuum!"

Pet hopped to it. She kept one hand on the railing as she descended the stairs. Heels, what do you know. She rarely wore them, even though Vern had told her he liked what they did to her legs. Where would she wear them, though? She barely ever went anywhere.

Could not. What would they do with the… _boy_? He was eight. Could not be left alone at home, even if he were normal. Could not be taken anywhere. It was a huge risk to put him in school – of course he was bullied, and of course he reacted to being bullied just like _Snape_ had.

Lashing out with his… _powers_. He had had accidents over the years, but lately it was worse than it had been since he had started to talk. Damn little bullying brats! Should be smarter than to poke at a venomous beast like that!

But what could she do? Pet reflected, bumping the fridge door shut with her hip. So far the… _stuff_ he had done in public was all small, and even though it was inexplicable, it could not be tied to him. And no one had been harmed, had they? Pet kept her ear to the ground, kept appraised of every bit of gossip that floated through the neighborhood.

No strangeness. No missing pets. No harmed children. Resentment for the… _boy_ , of course, and that didn't help with the bullying, but at least if no one got close to the… _boy_ , they wouldn't get hurt. Hopefully.

"Here you go, my darling." Pet put the plate with a slice of yesterday's cheesecake in front of Dudders, combed her fingers through his hair to get the few stray strands to lie down properly, and leaned in to press a kiss to the crown of his head. Lord, but he had grown like a weed.

Please, dear Lord, let him live, she thought. Let him grow up unaware of the danger that lives right next to him, let him grow up before the disaster has struck, let him escape this Hell unharmed-

"I wanted the other cake!" Dudders grumbled.

"The other cake is for after dinner, Pumpkin," Pet explained. "Mr and Mrs Chesterfield are very important guests. They are Daddy's friends from work, and if they like him, Daddy will make-"

More money, Pet was going to say, but looking at her little tyke, so handsome in his little suit, devouring the cheesecake – he was hungry, poor thing, she knew that seven was too late for dinner, should have given him a little something to tie him over earlier – perhaps it was best to tell him something that would sound more polite when he repeated it.

"-more drills, and his business will do better," she finished. She was not sure how much Dudders cared about drills – probably not a lot, not when there were Martian rayguns to care about – but he loved his Daddy and wanted him to be happy. And that was enough.

"Mnyeah, okay," he replied, leaning to the side to see the telly around Pet.

He was a good boy.

The back door slammed shut, and Vern emerged from the kitchen. Pet sniffed and pursed her lips, but, of course, this was stressful for him, so if a cigarette helped, she did not mind. Besides, she knew from his stories that Mr Chesterfield smoked like a chimney, so the odour of tobacco might help the two men find common ground. As long as Vern did not leave his cigarettes – or, Lord forbid, the lighter! – around for Dudders to find.

"Where's the freak?" Vern whispered while Pet leaned in close and touched the knot of his tie (it did not need adjusting, and that bode well for the evening).

"With Mrs Figg," Pet whispered back.

Vern smiled, contented, and Pet let herself smile back. He kissed her – a quick meeting of mouths, and she checked afterwards that he had no lipstick – and then he was on his way to inspect the living room once again, as though he had not done three walkthroughs already.

The shelves were dusted, the table set, the flowers fresh – everything was ready.

Mrs Figg was a blessing in disguise, Pet mused with a short but heart-felt thanks to the Lord. It was a very good disguise, so it had taken Pet quite some time to figure it out. Vern called the woman 'a doddering old bat', but even he understood the advantage of a babysitter whose witness statement nobody would take seriously.

If the… _boy_ did anything weird, Mrs Figg could tell anyone and everyone. People would just roll their eyes. Or laugh. And the poor dear was harmless. Pet was initially a little wary of the cats, but even those were well-behaved. The worst danger to the boy was some stale cake. And Pet knew her nephew – if he truly disliked something, he would make no secret of it. He would raise Hell.

Lord, the stubbornness of that child. Worse than Lily, and Lily could be such a selfish, patronising bitch sometimes.

Pet's breath hitched; she reflexively covered her mouth with her hand.

Oh. She had not said that out loud. Good.

"You feeling off, Pet?" Vern asked quietly, glancing toward Dudders, who was happily occupied with one of his favourite series that Pet had recorded for him. There were flashing lights and loud sounds of some kind of Martian battle, and Dudders' parents might as well not have existed while the space rockets blew up.

Pet nodded. "Yes, yes. Just…"

"Nervous?" Vern guessed, winding his arm around her and pulling her closer.

She sighed and leaned into his embrace.

Honestly, today was not too terrible. They would have a nice dinner with one of Vern's directors and his – undoubtedly – lovely wife. Pet would find some topic to talk about with the lady, surely? She read so many magazines and watched enough telly that some common interest was certain to pop up.

Vern would talk business with Mr Chesterfield.

Dudders would sit still through the food – of this Pet had absolutely no doubt – and then would excuse himself to his playroom. And if he made a little _faux pas_ , it would be alright. He was a strapping young boy of eight. Any oops might say or do would be cute rather than rude.

Everything would be alright.

She didn't have to be afraid of flickering lights or levitating dishes or her dress catching fire or-

"Don't think about him," Vern urged her, making little back-and-forth steps that resulted in a gentle rocking motion, almost like they were slow-dancing. "He's away. Don't let him ruin our evening. This will be good." He grinned, certain that he was already as good as promoted.

"He likes it there," Pet agreed. "He won't do anything… freaky." She shuddered, and Vern's arm briefly tightened around her.

Good Lord, she was so tired. She was so tired of being afraid, constantly, day and night. She never stopped being terrified, every minute of every hour, even when the… _boy_ was away. What kind of calamity would he cause? Would anyone of… _them_ come and investigate? They never appeared when he called things to him or set the curtains on fire. They hadn't come when he had turned that poor teacher's hair blue.

They did _nothing_ that one time – years ago now – when he had given Dudders rabbit ears.

Pet had made holes into a hat and pretended it was one of those novelty hats when she took her baby for walks outside. The other mums thought it was adorable, but Pet couldn't eat, couldn't sleep. She had cried. She had begged the… _boy_ to put it back, to make Dudders normal again, but he just stared at her with Lily's eyes like he was mocking her, and he _didn't do anything_.

And no one else did either. Pet didn't have a tame raptor she could use to send letters, and… _they_ didn't have a phone number like normal people! She couldn't call 999, because what would she tell them? They would take _her_ baby boy to some laboratory somewhere and dissect him like _he_ was freak, while the devil child just giggled and looked so proud of himself!

"Pet," Vern urged her. "Have a glass of brandy and calm down."

Pet shook her head. "I can't. The pills…" Dr Chantal had warned her that there might be serious side-effects if she mixed alcohol with her medication.

"Cigarette?" Vern offered, mostly joking.

If the smell didn't turn her stomach, Pet might have taken him up on it. She shook her head. "We still have ten minutes. I'll take a breather and be right back."

Vern kissed her temple, careful of her make-up, and released her. Pet collected Dudders' empty plate on her way to the kitchen and deposited it in the sink. She stepped out into the garden and took a surreptitious glance around, but fortunately both Nr 2 nor Nr 6 were busy inside. She watched the sun set, painting Privet Drive red, and clasped her hands together. She was not quite praying, but this usually helped her regain balance.

Please, she thought. Please give us time.

They were imprisoned here with something against which they had no defense. She had a recurring nightmare that one day the… _boy_ would get too angry and turn them all into frogs or chickens or… or coyotes, and when the police came to investigate what happened to the Dursley family, they would only find three wild animals and call animal control to catch them and put them to sleep.

She didn't think Lily's son wanted them to die, exactly, but he was eight. He had no idea of the true danger, of the possible consequences, and he had no control over his… _powers_. He was a ticking bomb, and Pet just hoped they had enough _time_.

She did not ask for herself. She did not even ask for Vern, although he was the innocent one whom she had unwittingly pulled into this situation. But who could have predicted that Lily's offspring would be forced on them like this?

She asked for Dudley. Her precious little boy, who grew up in this atmosphere of terror – she struggled so hard not to let it touch him, not to let it show. He had to be strong, and happy, and undamaged.

A rumble of engine sounded from the street; Pet headed inside, well-practiced smile stretching her lips.

Vern was already opening the front door.

Pet paused by the sofa to herd Dudders in front of her, and then looked up at their guests – a middle-aged couple of obvious good means, judging by the Versace the lady was wearing.

"Good evening, Mr and Mrs Chesterfied," Dudders said like a perfect little gentleman. "It is a pleasure to meet you."

Mr Chesterfield solemnly shook Dudders' hand.

Mrs Chesterfield smiled; crows' feet gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Pet swallowed the bitter jealousy, stepped into her role, and pretended that everything was perfectly fine in their cookie-cutter suburban life. "Welcome to our home. Please come in, come in – dinner will be served in a moment."

Vern squeezed her elbow while Dudders led the guests to the living room. He shone with pride at their son.

Pet took a deep breath and promised herself to enjoy this to the fullest. One evening of how they were meant to be:

A happy, loving family.


End file.
